A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this alletrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevaient from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths, roles and qualities
of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s

Don't worry child
Don't cry
Don't let fear
Find you
Don’t worry child
The life
Still needs you
You will find life
When you find
You!
Don’t worry child
Don’t die
Beside the cold trees
Find your way out
Find the life inside
Don’t worry child
May the branches of doubt
Lead you to the leaves
Where everything is calm and green
Away from the screaming steam
Don’t worry child
in the forest
Deep inside
Between the ashes and shadows
A mystic soul shines
Among the trees of life
Always by your side
Don’t worry child
Don’t cry
Find life
inside you
Don’t die
Your soul is bright
Your tree will shine
soon
You will find
You are one of a kind
So Don’t worry child!

The tarantula built
a web in the upper-left corner of my patio;
she weaved it perfectly as Antonio
rose on his wobbling feet to reach it.
That boy didn't know that
spiders get vicious and suddenly bite
when someone tries to grab them for spite,
and Antonio tried to pull it down with a tiny twig...
no, it didn't work, so he tried again with a long stick;
oh, once a garden spider got stuck into his mom's wig!
" Antonio, put it down,
before it crawls onto your skin! "
The spider will bite you on the cheek
and you'll be doing the Tarantula Dance! "
I yelled by taking the stick away from him with extreme force.
" No, I like that spider...that's the one I want to keep! "
He rebelled with a grin, transforming himself into a beast.
" OK, you can keep it, but remember spiders creep! "
I warned him and told him to wear a mask and just peak.
The tarantula built a web where rain or storms
never soaked it, and scorching sun rays
never melted it...how laborious she was in summer's long days!
We watched it going to and fro searching for food for her little one
as we took daily videos and had fun watching them!
After all, I realized that a spider is not dangerous...if left alone;
and Antonio kept his distance by warning other boys
that trying to catch a tarantula is a very dangerous game!

The castle stood with majesty.
The child stood justly proud.
Both night and sea stood patiently,
In hand the castle's shroud.
My thinking now became serene,
Of things small and sublime.
How I saw all played in that scene
Of man, his deeds and time.
But here I raise a quandary.
I question thee a tad.
Are we the castle stately?
Or, are we the lad?
Are we the child? Are we the sand?
We're either, can't you see?
Both built and build to pass away
With time our ebbing sea.
The tide we face is Father Time.
Aren't we but molded clay?
Just like that castle so sublime
We are not here to stay.
Yet like that child in spring of life,
His days are numbered still.
Just like the grains of sand it took
To stir this old man's quill.

There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home

The feather had started its life as part of a bird's plumage
until one day it was preened out and left on the ground
A warrior chief finding it added it to his headdress
where it rode into many bloody battles with him
until it was wrenched out by a tree's branches
trapped there fluttering in the light breeze
it was found by a man who took it for his wife
she added to her Sunday hat and wore it to church.
Starting to look very bedraggled she took it out
she was going to throw it away but her daughter
pleaded to be allowed to have it for her collection
and there it rested for many years as a trophy.
The feather had started life bright and jaunty
now in its last days it had faded and become shredded
I wonder what tales you could tell us, the lady thought
as with a sigh she took it outside and let the breeze take it.
written 08/05/2014
contest: LEAF, FEATHER, SHELL or FLAKE

It's a November
when I find myself walking
My hand holding yours
Side by side arms swaying
Your little fingers interlocking with mine.
I believe it is a happy day.
I think it shows in your little sun-tanned face.
I feel it myself from deep within.
Slowly welling up like a spring of water
From a dry ground, long athirst.
I see the sun walking along gently in pace with us
Touching your brown nose and passing your limbs.
Blessing you with a soft radiance and blissful joy a child can only know.
Your school uniform lighter than cerulean sky
Matching your gaiety, perfecting a mother-child moment.
Dotting the passing clouds with pure colors of your innocence and laughter.
Gigantic floating cotton balls of clouds
like stringed balloons; oh, please hold onto them,
cease 'em before away they fly.
A moment to treasure when things aren't as happy as they should.
A many of this I pray to come,
A joyful carefree walk with my little boy;
Now, a mother's hand held by her small son.

‘Do you like Pigeons Dad’
“Oh No”
‘But Why?’
“They’re scummy things
They’re Rats with wings
They’re vermin of the sky”
‘That can’t be right Dad’
“It is”
‘How So?’
“They pilfer seed
They breed at speed
And harbour disease you know”
‘Are you sure dad’
“Oh Yes”
‘Since when?’
“Since the Rock Pigeon flew
And ended up in a stew
Since their domestication by men”
‘But I like Pigeons Dad’
“I know
You do”
‘I like how they sing
I like the shape of their wing
So you should like them too’
“But I don’t like Pigeons Son.
Not now.
Not ever.
Their walk is bizarre,
They crap on my car
And they’re really not that clever”
'But Daaaad…
...they wake me in the morning,
With their delightful coo,
Their plumage is wonderful - an iridescent blue.
They look good in the garden Dad
They don’t make such a mess
Do you like Pigeons Dad?’
…“Yes”
[This poem was the result of being asked this question many, many, many times by my son. My son is on the autistic spectrum - he has Asperger's Syndrome to give the official diagnosis. He is a lovely human being & I love him dearly. But one of his most irritating traits, is the fact that he asks the same questions continuously all day every day. No matter how you respond, the same question will be posed minutes later. Currently and for at least the last 2 to 3 years: 'Do you like pigeons daddy?' is his favourite/most frequently asked question. Now that you know that, perhaps you can really feel the exasperation in that final ..."Yes"]

Who remembers, is it only me?
When March had drizzled, and April fooled us...
But a morning in the month of May.........
We'd spread upon a kitchen table
Paste made of flour, scissors, borrowed
paper, crayons of rainbow colors
Pretty paper doilies and….
Mama letting little hands
Create surprises, of cone shaped fans…
The memory shrugs so many years
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Accomplishments, each of our own
On May the first, a small bouquet
We would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lillies of the Valley, wildwood fern,
Gathering them, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew,
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom
Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles
On May the first, a small bouquet
We would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
Timid knocking on a door
“Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs now running fast,
And down the road, quite out of breath
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing gifts to make them sigh
Was worth a lot !! Was worth the thought
A thoughtful way to light their eyes
On May the first, a small bouquet
We would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
_________________________________________________________
2/19/14

Silver women with fragile spines
Lonely during the week, they must be doing something right
The loneliness doesn’t affect them, and they don’t want to scream and shout
Daily feelings of sadness, sometimes are beautiful and sometimes are loud
These women transformed themselves in statues made of seam and dreams
So they can stay in their days willing to give, care and redeem
Time isn’t the problem, but let there be courage to move forward old days of resembling habits
Make them brave, and they would be the Sea Lion Woman of their own credits

Flowers
Not named
Unknown to those with no curiosity
Buds, that dream of one day blooming
Being, more than they are
Flowers living
Being
Thriving
Touched by those who love
Protected by those who wish to love
Wishing to be more than they are
Buds, not truly knowing if they are ready for the world
Hoping they are strong enough
Wishing to be the best
You, Me, Us, Everyone

The wild berries of the Northwest
it seems every path you walk on , they are there for you to sample ,
Almost as The city of Portland itself is welcoming you with astonishing beauty, the view of a snow tipped Volcano , as if greeting you with a basket full of fresh wild Marion berries
The beauty, just picked plump , the color of dark purple
a fragrance to savor , what will I do ?
will I make a pie or preserves ?
Oh the pancakes and waffles , the Tillamook ice cream is a must ~
After rinsing the fresh picked Berries with water and dusting them with fine Sugar , a hint of cinnamon , if pie , waffle , or cake . maybe just plain ,
serve with whipped cream made from scratch and a leaf of mint .
The Salmon , the berries , roses and apples all in the Great Northwest ,
You may visit however be warned , for many have come this way
Many have travelled a far ,
For the great Spirit of This Northwest will encompass and astound you .
Begging your soul to stay and live the way of a Portlander .
Give me rain I say , for the green here will blind you, it is
like walking off the black and white set of Wizard of Oz,
and opening the amazing door to Colors .

I’d always wish you had a good night sleep
Upon the hammock or by mama’s arms.
If, by chance, you wake before sunup’s peep,
I’ll show you that the world is full of charms.
I’ll take you to the place I was before
Where youthful dreams and hopes once burst and grew,
That urban city can provide no more
When childish ray would play with morning dew.
Come, son, feel the warmth as they welcome you!
Listen to the birds, the brook in harmony!
Look up before the rainbow’s complex hue!
And watch the grasses dance in synchrony!
I’d take you to the place where we must be –
A home that gives us real and pure refuge
And shows the young what they are ought to see.
With mama’s love we’ll build a home so huge.
10 July 2014
9:02 PM

Dedicated to an author by the name of William Golding... Enjoy!!!
~Two boys meet on an island
~~One is skin 'n bones
~~~The other one is chubby
They discover a lagoon~
Ralph teases him by calling~~
him "Piggy" - how mean!!~~~
Piggy asks him if
There are other people on
The island with 'em
He has no clue
But this'll answer Piggy's question --
Other boys appear -
All diverse shapes and sizes
What'll happen next??
You'll see...
Have you ever read The Lord of the Flies?
I recommend it if yah haven't read it yet - I must admit
It's a book full of adult words and it's simply...FASCINATING! - no lies
You should read it - or you'll regret it!

Show me who you are and i shall paint out broken columns on the valleys of her back as if such figure is un-common
i have found no beauty bending as the vines that are her hair and the frailty of man upon her back is what she bares
bleed her body for the harvest let them feast upon her soul for the nurishment of mother is leaps beyond so bold
she is like the flower growing in the deepest of dark forests,amongst the ivy and hemlock but her skin is much too porous
to concern herself with games that tantalize the men, as they marry on crusade it is her children that she tends
sheath your swords with her ambition and tip your arrows with her will, craft your armour from her strength and in the battle you will kill
come now children from the pasture and lay each upon her side, suckle gently at your mother although theirs pain she does not hide
though the water leaks from rooftops her leaves are thick and block the rain, as the water level rises cling to her branches with no shame
she is the stone upon the beach, once a mountain pound and breached
yet still her disposition clear to love her children that are near
inspired by Roots Frida Kahlo, 1907-1954

The sun breaking dawn in the morning,
That invisible stream called the breeze,
The blazing burnt sunset at nighttime,
What magical mysteries are these!
Even the pulse in the city:
With ornate neon signs all aglow,
Is a castle in the eyes of a child,
Filled with wonders only they could know.
Strange to think that there's everyday magic;
Quite unlike what we read in our books,
But the world is filled with such wonders
So long as we know where to look.

An earthly existence
A universe beyond my minds, comprehension
I die
I rise
Life lessons reviewed
Homeward bound
I am not lost, after all!
I am a willing participant
Serving, the Father, of all creation
His son combined, ‘producing life’ as we know it
Representing them, in everything I do
I am nothing, without Love!
My heart full of faith, loyal service I give
Learning how to unconditionally serve, as the Father unconditionally, loves me
Worshipping our Divine Creator’s existence
Choosing to live, moment to moment
Being as one with ‘Our Universal Father’
No physical permanency
My physicality, disappearing
My mortality existence, I let go of
Death temporary
My spirit alive!
Relief, Peace
‘I am only passing through!’
A unique, experience of mortality
A gift, I am blessed to experience, to live!

Australia, my destiny
When I was just a tiny lad
I met my uncle Will
He hailed from West Australia
And my mind he did fill
With stories of the Kangaroos
And all of its wild life
I knew that I would live there someday
When ere the time was rife.
When I was just a teenager
I met a fine young girl
She hailed from West Australia
And put me in a whirl
As she spoke to me about this land
Where now I choose to dwell
We married and she brought me here
To this land I love so well.
When I arrived in this great land
It felt like paradise
Oh, I could never live back home
Nay, not for any price
It must have been my destiny
To come to this fine country
Where everything is so laid back
And feels so very free.
12 November 2013 @1213hrs.

A fragile mind breaks
Wake upon the rock laden shores
A muffled heart begs to echo
Whispers lost among a velvet chamber
Dusk comes premature time and again
Dropping the curtain on an optimistic sunrise
If you never witness dawn
There is no tomorrow
Always the dreamer aches
Never awake to make real what he desires
The restless corpse walks blind
Dead ends seem fitting for one of the kind
Lost in the labyrinth of strangling vines
Love is the motive and the weapon
Taking root in throats dry from weeping
Sprouts of amnesia in place of smiles
A garden called heartbreak holds onlookers captive
The comfort takes hold, sets in the bones weary of searching
A plea for rest lands on deaf ears
The hollow boy tires of himself
The last request he will ever make
"End me"
Lost and tired
He wishes to be weak no more

I am a kind of word spoken by the voice of nature
I am the element flying gracefully on a green pasture
I am a silent child in Summer and the brave child that Winter has believed
I crown the opening of the golden Spring and a gentle heart that Autumn conceived
I caress the majestic body of the flower as she announce the coming of the light
At nocturnal melodies, I dance with the birds on their lonely flight
The plains are full of the vibrant grace by those lovely flowers
As I embrace the early morning lovers
I cradle the spirit of the one who drinks wine
As he promenades with the swaying leaves of the vine
I am a dulcet entity whispered by a faint death
I am the little joy sang by a saddened health
I am the air breathed by a living man
and a mysterious knight to a crying little one
When the flower look high to never see her shadow
I escape through a broken, dusty window
To uplift her when she will feel me blow

Surely to know the ambrosial quiver
Of stiffened fruit, ripe and swollen
With stolen fragrance and lovely flush
Of seeded solvent all down a furtive face
And up the greedy pink arms of cloud-ward reaching children
Is to know also the jealous rain
Her green glances gorge on mellow delight
Indulgent and impatient with quick eyes
Snatching strokes of waxy flesh
Torrid caress under an austere guise of gray
She is a lean and idle glutton
Who lashes in strife with quickness and lusty strikes
It will be a feast of soul
If you do not slay her first

Hopeful doesn’t mean stupid
That doesn’t mean I wasn’t stupid
I was in a state and messed up
Simple as that.
I could dramatize
Spill all the stars from my eyes and mouth and cry out for answers but,
I won’t.
My spirit can dance alone.
A lapse in judgement will not throw it off beat because it dances to a cosmic drum. My heartbeat and no one else’s.
Dropped my shield
Set myself on fire
Burned up a daft dream
And fell to ashes.
I’ve proven to relate to the phoenix
Both of us know what it’s like to die a quick death and come back stronger
Time and time again
Our ashes swirl into the manifestation of our desires and in that I find my comfort.
Boulders
Hard topped, granite counters
Tough as nails kid
But kid is man or at least he pretends to be.
Smart phones aren’t so smart but, I’m writing this on one
Sedatives and sad, country music mood swims through my veins.
Excuse me, while I go have a drink with that phoenix.

Christ, avatar.
One Christmas star
Cosmos ajar.
Life dusts disperse.
A child of God
Like trees in sod.
All on Earth laud.
One universe.
December 8, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: DESIDERATA
Sponsor nette onclaud
I Chose Theme #2
NOTE: av·a·tar
'av??tär/
noun
1. 1.
HINDUISM
a manifestation of a deity or released soul in bodily form on earth; an incarnate divine teacher.

OMG the smells of the woods and the old musky smells of the building,
the texture and smells of a good book.
The beauty in it all, wishing I could be a child again, but this time free, free from the
bondage's that once held me down.
The innocence ripped from the child sitting in this chair,
the only comfort she could find was in the woods.
Mother Earth was her best friend, the one she ran to for protection and nurturing.

When midnight's velvet blanket
Is draped across the sky,
With wisps of cloud too thin to shroud
The star shine from your eye,
Pause a while to wonder
The things those stars have seen
Whilst drifting through the darkness
As you lay your head to dream.

She squats beside the water's edge, playing,
Tadpoles and crawdads fleeing
From fat probing fingers.
Sunlight sparkles on the river ripples,
Caressing a sunburnt face
And freckled pixie nose.
Contentment - a child at peace with nature,
Living on the brink of joy
With sand between her toes.
Kimo
May 30, 2014

Things have changed worldwide today, but not the joy
Of spring. The sounds I heard when yet a child
Of cataracts tumbling with joy, the air rinsed of alloy
And magic in all things pastoral, all things wild
My son walks around the place a walkman to his ear
He will not hear the sparrow's song
Shall not know the canaries in gold are seen here
His dreams to the automaton belong.
Look at them, their feet all wrap, expensive in plastic
Shoes, they cannot feel between their toes
The water river running free, cornered in this tragic
Sense of progress, full of unbalmed woes.
Here where the sun laddles her warmth down the sky
On bowl of stoops made from concrete
They collect to laugh, as maggots lad by a fly
While green grass and park lay obsolete.
Before there was a phone, my mother called down
The mountainside and telegraphed her joy
A new grandchild swaddled in the rising sound
Was introduced by what tradition employed.
We ran to school eight miles away and never grew
Obese, that training unclogged us to learn
Something each day by nature brought to view
Wrapped in beauty, and made us yearn
For things we could not make, love, honor, freedom
A sense of greatness beyond our state
A simple ant could teach us prolific vaults of wisdom
A patterned sky could be a living slate.

I ran at the sight of the petals
Which swiftly flew past me,
In my little shoes I chased it
Thinking that an adventure this will be.
They floated,all purple against the sky
With no obstacles to block their way,
I ran over the hill and tried to reach
But by then they were further away.
The little petals danced to the tunes of the wind,
Every step they could master .
Which made me want them even more
And dashed behind them,faster.
When they did a glissade
And descended to about my height,
I jumped and caught few of them
My eyes twinkled with delight.
I gently opened my fist
But they seemed as lifeless as could be,
So I tiptoed and gave them back
To the wind where they'd be free.
They whirled around me in a circle
To this day in my memory this experience is pinned,
At last they left me with a magical fragrance
The purple petals in the wind..
By Sadaf Syed
For the contest 'Petals In The Wind'

Where did you fly off too bird,
the trees where your babies live?
New camera was out of focus,
but I heard the squawking loud enough.
Mother came out ringing the dinner bell;
did she know of the crimson sunset?
With the sound of birds in my ears,
I ran to the rice bowls, hot and ready.
Chopsticks in her hands - she first asked
how I fared in my adventures.
The birds were quiet, the sunset now violet;
I ate it all, but was still hungry for the woods outside.

The poet leaves his winter study and roams around mountains and deep woods,
The painter sold his pictures and is off to sketch on heath and highlands,
The child runs through sun kissed meadows and across dusty golden commons,
The lovers walk down country lanes and wander about each other, on mead's,
The man of the road smiles as he knows the night will not be bitterly cold,
The nightingale sings a haunting melody bringing tears to the lovers eyes,
The trees swaying in a breeze an oak drops acorns, the child collects them,
The mountains capped with snow unleashes a stream of fine words from the poet,
The heath and highlands glow with beautiful greenery and the painter paints,
The birds swoop from bough to bough the poet sees and he writes some prose,
The man of the road listens to bird song his eyes mist bringing sad memories
The evening sun falls behind the horizon a beautiful sunset the lovers kiss,
The poet sees the sunset and writes about dark golden evenings and warm nights,
The painter mixes yellow and black and that captures this wonderful picture,
The boy leaves the woods to go home as it is nearly time for his evening meal,
The man of the road lays down deep in the woods his overcoat is his blanket,
The lovers walk arm in arm as the day darkens they make their way home slowly,
The painter cleans his brushes and carefully lays down his canvas in the dark,
The poet is happy he has written beautiful words he lays in his bed reflecting,
The boy is fast asleep dreaming of the fantastic day he enjoyed in the woods,
The six unconnected people that were unknowingly were connected sleep soundly.

The recovery from life at seven is so trying. Having witnessed
your brother being taken to heaven. What future can a child see
through cascades of tears, what future does a parent explain to
allay his fears.
Their day to day life has been forever changed, as their different
tomorrow brought loss and sever. Where do I start to tell you if I coped.
What words for the loss as my fathers health sloped.
Decisions were made from the pain we must move, to be on the peripheral, to
rejoin life, to gain. Absorbing our loss, brought us closer than
before, but it has taken a life to go through their last door.
My father and I, responded by living. We walked in beautiful glens
surrounded by heathers, as we as a family grew from our weathers. The walks
on Ben Nevis in nature surround, as he taught me plenty about animals and
plants. We would drink the clear waters as he told me it brought life. Being
so educated at seven, filled the void. Every so often we would say " Boom
Boom " would love being here, as we thought for a moment and then the
eventual tears.
But the toll of our loss, for my father was heartbroken. His health declined
with the loss of my brother. Six more years of sporadic times, as hospital
became his home and child support became mine.
My recovery from life continues to this day. As I think and look back at
all the times we spent surrounded by life, my father and I from the loss of
a life, but I still wonder why.
.

But a Whisper From the Childs perspective
Part 1 of 2
In my minds’ eye this life that I see is my very own upon your knee.
While I was in heaven in the heart of God waiting to be born,
I was full of excitement anticipating I wanted a Mother to adore.
I wanted a Mother to hold me tight, safe within her arms.
Raise me good give me love and keep me safe from harm.
I wanted a mother, who’ll bounce me on her knee,
And give me sweet candy and kisses.
And when I’m away, on her mind I’ll stay, for it’s me she always misses.
A Mother to shape and mold me to be all I can be.
So when I’m older and out in the world I can make her proud of me.
A Mother to teach me of kool-aid and Jesus, baseball and football too.
A Mother that I can look at and say, I wanna be just like you.
I’ve had lots of time to think about what I want to be.
But I have the strangest feeling the worlds not ready for me.
So I must go back to the heart of God and stay for a little while,
But that’s ok for I have seen my dear sweet Mommas smile.
In my minds I you kissed me but a moment, A lifetime in a flash.
Although I knew you but a whisper, forever your memory will last.

Puzzle Man
Sex is sex with connections
According to “them”, chemistry plays a part
There are a lot of ins and outs, ups and downs with coitus
It has been suggested certain parts are needed for functionality
Utilization of external & internal parts might be required
Facts of life in accordance with birds and bees philosophy
“They” say it’s all about relations, (perhaps aided by vibrators or vibrations)
There are 3 kinds of sex;
1.) Playing by oneself with one self
2.) Sex between 2 persons
3.) Orgies? Or morgies? Or mortgages? (ménage a trios might fit this
category)
I’m confused about mortgages and it does not sound like fun
Then there’s sex with animals but that’s just wrong
Commitment plays another part, free will with honor, monogamy
Other people pay for it. (Don’t get lost. Stay focused. We’re talking sex.)
A business transaction, that comes with or without diseases
Trying not to be litigious
“They” also say other things regarding human beings and sex
Compatibility, social, economic, religious components weigh in
All is well with puzzle man….if he has a home, a job, a car
The car, as far as we know, always trumps a bike when dating
Competition is healthy in relations “they” say
Parties involved in coitus know
Sex doesn't happen on its own
One must be properly lubricated and maintained
Like an auto or chu chu train
I imagine it must be like a banana penetrating a donut
Not a savory sight
Again…. You need a home, or shopping cart, or car
Even up in a tree will do if you’re in the mood
To be accomplished
Reading books on what parts fit with other parts is desirable
They say the most important thing about such things is love
I wouldn't know about such things
It’s all a puzzle to a little man like me
I only have a bicycle you see so sex is out of the question
Also, I’m only 3
Mother is about to bathe me
She had better keep her hands to herself
I want to figure these things out alone and by myself

Once, twice, you dreamt to serve humanity,
the most downtrodden, bogged in poverty;
but something in you and in society
convinced you of your dream's futility.
You sought comfort in spirituality,
so tired and thirsting for tranquility;
but even that turned out to be a bore,
so you still searched and craved for so much more.
Blame it on the government, now you say,
blow it up, beat it down, blast it away;
but while you bleed and hide from day to day,
you doubt the why of it, and why you stay.
And so you join the fight in the rat race,
where wealth is might, you're just a faceless face;
though you survive, you're so dissatisfied,
something real and good sorely missing inside.
Now home at last, you work with homegrown ease,
writing books, singing songs, planting trees,
cherishing nature's beauty tame and wild,
seeing it through the eyes of your own grandchild !

Wandering traveller of the night
Occult creature,
your velvet butterfly tongue leaves thoughts lingering in my mind
as visions of obscured beauty pass before me,
in the shadow of your smile
hypnotic, illuminating
to pluck the thoughts out of the void
like petals from divine lotus
streams of consciousness pool, playing before our shimmering eyes
in crescent moon lullaby
melodic rhythm of throbbing life,
spinning illusion
illuminated in violet luster
revealing truth hidden in images of splendor
every hue brilliantly diffused
in the immensity of an unshattered silence
fragmented bliss,
I sleep, lulled deeply in Morpheus' embrace
and so I ask you,
if I am a child of the light why do I feel so at home in the dark?
falling tears die delicately
as you told me that
today is the child of yesterday and tomorrow
innocence, captured peacefully
formed with golden bough.
Strange, twilight child,
lost in your mercurial pleasure
set free my naked soul
shivering, into darkened night
ascending on stairways of delirium
to the orphaned city of stars

Its effects run in you
Always through you
And when you’re not careful,
It can go all the way down
If you clench it hard enough
It almost squeezes back
Ripping at your everything.
In the moment it wrenches you
And you play dead for a while
Until you’re back to reality
And it releases your smile.
It’s not as bad as you thought
You’re not as bad as you thought.
Squeeze yourself,
Releasing all that needs to be said and done
Tempt yourself
For you’re not the only one.
Inside it feels like heaven
And you’re tempted to look inside
If you do, you’ll have to rip at it
Is the cost worth the price for knowledge?
It’s opened…
You see everything
But like a child, the gift of sight is blinding
You’re scared of this new beauty
You can’t understand
There’s an adjustment with time
And you feel alive.
If you accept it’s will
The rest will come full circle,
Don’t lose your battle
For the worst thing that comes
Is happiness, beyond good judgment…

“Dress me in daises,” I said, as if flowers could cover my skin in respectable ways, and
he smiled as my shoe boxes of paint tipped over, as the floor became art and the way I
walked towards him smeared my heart at his feet.
We captured laughter this way, drawing insensibilities in between us, and there was an
element of beauty in the grin of a child when it appeared to dance across his grown up
cheeks, an attraction to Peter Pan, and blond hair in the summer, as I thought I could
capture July...
The month used to sit beside my bed, fluttering night lights to save me from dreams, stars
danced in mason jars and fairytales were whispered beyond moonlight as I wrote them in my
dreams, as I watched seasons disappear into morning light.
I arrested kisses with a word and slipped them in my pockets, he commented on the rips
that always decorated the hems of my blue jeans, I played with the brown flowered
patches at me knees, I looked at him and told him my secrets, I whispered content beneath
the spring as we watched summer rise, as the sky became a canvas and I wished my hands
were more capable...
“Show me the way beyond you,” he requested, as my glance became puzzled, “Show me who you
are.”
He handed me a daisy, he told me to undress, I studied the petals as they fell to my feet,
my toes became blanketed...
and I walked towards him...
the decoration of spring mapping out my heart, and he smiled with a mouth that grinned
when he spoke my name, when he laughed in the fashion of a child and held me under
moonlight when spring faded and summer came.

Time
It is the thief .Which steals
All nobles from its earth
It is a God
It can make many wonders in this world
It never forgets move even for a second
As the beat of a living heart
It moves anytime as sun and moon
And directs this world in a determined route
It is a child
Yes it wakes as an innocent child in dawns
It is a king
It rules this world harshly in mid noons
It is a lover girl
It touches gently in evenings
It is a destiny, Which
Concludes lives in correct seconds
All are in it’s control
Volcanoes and quakes are it’s weapons
To put an end to this earth
Our hands and minds are insufficient
To write the enormous powers of time
We will follow it and worship it
To understand it atleast

Soft-feathered Phoenix burns into ashes
And then rise again like the morning sun,
The lightening of reborn soul flushes.
Truly, the Child is Father of the Man.
Small buds gleam in the rays, drench in water,
And then grows into flowers with the plan
Of unseen hands of scheming Creator.
Truly, the Child is Father of the Man.
Seeds of the dead trees fall, submerge on earth
Wood-cutters loads those tree away in Caravan
But new lives spring from that soil with rebirth.
Truly, the Child is Father of the Man.
Child becomes Father, it's law of Nature,
Small water-particles do form the Sea.
The Children are our past and our future.
In Them, we can see what we were, could be.

A nurturing cradle of light
a new born's first love, first insight
a lesson instilled to always fight for what is right
thy loving hand of god take this child out beyond the heights
A mystery unknown, as new eyes search profound
each word, each whisper, a curious sound
a tiny spirit intrigued, so free and unbound
a sense, a need, a purpose is found
Oh' cradle of light
protect this child through the realm of each night
provide wisdom, knowledge and loving insight
hollow hands of thee, a precious spirit invite

A cherub with a rosy face
and plenty of curly hair
that the breeze loved to lull,
more than the daises so fair;
and that was the closest comparison...
to the beautiful child he once was!
The youngest dreamer ever to be born
with eyes as bright and lively as stars,
such were his to take imagination
beyond every possible dimension;
and such was the closest comparison...
to see himself as the beautiful child he once was!
He grew up too fast with an instinct
that was immensely blessed; so keen,
privileged and gallant seemed that fearless
kid not to be able to earn one's keep,
to make perfection the closest comparison...
to the beautiful child he once was!
The shady paths covered by the swanky pine trees,
were as dusty as any country road which needed rain,
and it came without ever wishing for it; and he welcomed
it by getting wet, to lose himself in its gentle peace;
and what other closest comparison would he have made?...
If not that of the beautiful child he once was without worry and pain!
Entered in Deborah Guzzi's poetry contest
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

From within - all life come to light .
THE WOMB OF MOTHER NATURE
Before the womb of Mother Nature, stands
two offspring's, feeding off her old life's hands
One day, a long way down the road of time's passing
they will stand tall before the memory of her place .
MOTHER NATURE'S VULVA, ****** .
A flower before the beauty of Motherhood,
one day, a month ago, before me stood .
To day, in the photo, the vision became clear
as I enlarged the picture, bring it near .
Life's journey, before these eyes, was there
for all to see, if but should they care .
Imagination in me runs wild
at the sight of man's stillborn child
looking out at me from within her ******,
past the beauty that is all vulva .
This unborn child - so old - of man,
his skeletal skull, eyes so sad
slipping into dust, as all before had,
kissing the lips all life passes by
on it's long, long journey to be .
This unborn child - so old - of man
reaching up it seems, trying to hang on,
but out into the light we all must go,
past the gap between Mothers legs
we must, he must, as dust, fly
out into the great expanse, of blue sky,
living a life fated, dictated, or chosen .
This in a photo - this day - caught my eye .
B.J. "A" 2
May 24th 2009

Eleven days before Christmas, as we were singing, " A Child Is Born"...
fluffy snowflakes came down and they were as big as white popcorn.
Surprised mom yelled, " Run to the window, they are more beautiful than snow flowers
and daises... " Go, catch some into your warm hands and dream of Bethlehem's stars!"
Astonished as those shepherds watching their sheep under the starriest sky,
we saw pretty snowflakes not a wondrous star followed by the three Magi.
They kept on falling and floating like dry leaves on a December's cold evening...
when carols were played on a church organ that was taller than any ceiling.
Merrier than angels announcing Christ's birth, we stared at His bright stable...
and what we felt was the humbleness of a King whose love was so ample.
Once again, we ran back to the snow-dusted window and looked into the quite sky,
among the gleaming snowflakes: a golden child appeared asking for a happy lullaby.
Entered in Francine Robert's contest,
" A Winter Couplet "
My theme: First Snowfall

I feel it
The tugging in my bones
Like a young child pulling at my shirt to get attention
That gentle urge to look their way
It whispers in my ears
Left shoulder it sits
Then right
Left right left right
Never quite in view
Tickling like a strand of hair gone awry
It slides across my fingers
Like an itch I can't scratch
The desire to move
When I know I should be absolutely still
I hear it
Like a ringing in my ears
Or a fly buzzing in my ear
The humming of the lights
It calls to me
Mumbling like the dry eyes commercial guy
It longs for me
Like a drought stricken farmer prays for rain
It commands me to dance
Flitting like a butterfly sailing in a windstorm
It burns
Like the fever of a sleepless infant
On and on it screams at me
I am coming
Like a wild cat at midnight
It reaches out to embrace me
Like little ones safe in their mothers arms
Restlessly I wait
For spring

Toddlers teeter on the hollowed trunks and sport with juts of ice.
'Cross boulder bridges, flouting rapids, hop the agile blond and beige.
Yet in close chase, for or found, and on uneven ground, they’ll slip.
Clots in black and rose bespatter tans and whites.
Though clouds may cope the flights of cubs and fawns in torrents spirit laden,
steps shan’t be erased, where o’er plight’s edge they’re furrowed.
Would least the cliff lay lad to nestle upon drifts of pedals fallow
or as cradled by green swaths of summer blades.
For if to hope, the whelp when bade need but renounce a bed of clover,
might a father’s beckon stern retrieve the slain.
But scolds can echo no reprieve where o’er forever’s precipice
the yearling brown has left the seasons scarlet stained.
Though with the day’s advance, a glance would chance the fact all tracks do fade,
in the havens gray, in every trace, we dawdle.
It’s the cleft that blanched a mother’s face. Bereft, her tears are gained.
And blood ‘s been shed till never, like the rains.

She looks up at the sky,
the time is drawing near.
Everywhere you look,
the face is full of fear.
The people left are fleeing,
the hope they had has fled.
The time is comming closer,
soon all left will be dead.
The tidle wave is comming now,
it begins to flood the street.
But once it passes over,
the city is nowhere near beat.
The houses still stand,
as sturdy and strong.
Everything is perfect,
and where it should belong.
One child stands,
her eyes are wide.
No destruction is left behind
from the tide.
The child's powers are strong,
as I now see.
Now I should tell you,
that child happens to be me.

She sits to watch the ladybug
a little child a lovely smile
so ever slow she didn't know
that reaching out would make it go
a gentle touch the ladybug moves
not very much she find a groove
she claps her hands with pure delight
then she stands to watch its flight
ladybug flies not knowing where
as the child watches in a stare
she waves bye-bye.the little child
watching nature for awhile.

Mother Nature
Say mother Say mother…
Can you see your child flowing in the wind?
Blowing in the dust and crack and smelling like nothing but must
In the mist of troubles put shot guns to baby brains
By taking out their parent and given them a ward of a life to maintain
Given birth to a child that derange in the brain
Amp to bring innocence low than bring them forth on down
Instead of making you proud
I do things that so wild
Like giving diseases to a child
Molest the youth
With more than physical but with mental abuse
Will all this goodness torture you?
Or would it be even better
If I was to infects myself with AIDS
And go on out and give it to every nigga who likes to get laid
Cause in a way I no they would go out the in give to another
So all my goodness would smother
And hover over the innocence
Easily I can let my brain play like Monopoly
Go to each community and spread bullets through each Property
No ‘I’ll go out there in put fire to your trees
Burn every forest so one day no body and bereave
Yes mother yes mother I’m your enemy
And you and father create billions of me
Say mother Say mother
Can nature be?
Can nature defeat me?

Upon the fells I did then spy,
A witch on a broom, up in the sky!
The sky was dark; the moon was bright,
As she cast her wicked spells this night !
I hid me then in an old oak tree,
So that I not her eyes to see!
I hid me then from this evil there,
For I a child a child so fair!
But flew she did then to the ground,
And saw me hidden, and I was found!
A cackle she did then raise to me,
As I backed away in the old oak tree!
Her face so ugly and set to fear,
My fate with her then seemed so clear!
That I be placed in a cooking pot,
For her to eat, now she had got!
A spell she did then cast on me!
A spell to make me not to flee!
My legs as numb as ice in snow,
I could not run, nor could I go!
But all at once as then by chance!
The oak did speak and start to dance!
It wailed its old and sad lament,
And scorned the witch with heard intent!
It tore its roots up from the ground,
And laid me safe, and so then sound,
Its boughs so great and strong to be,
Did swipe the witch away from me!
With cackled cry the witch did lie,
In bruised and saddened state,
The oak had beaten evil then,
And saved me from my fate!
And so she flew to heights anew,
Another soul to find,
The oak did creek its voice to me,
In tears that were so kind,
“No more then fear the witch” it said,
"No spell by she, can you be led!"
She will not harm thee now, no more,
For you the forest does adore"!

Who is right and what is wrong?
Everyone likes to sing a song.
Who is small and who is tall?
Everyone is same when they fall.
Who is black and who is white?
A meaningless matter living has a fight.
Who is rich and who is poor?
Living for food sickness has no cure.
Who is dirty and what is clean?
Air has mixture no different brain.
What is darkness and what is enlightment?
Everyone dies nobody pays a different rent.
Who is a child and who is an old one?
A child has dispute, an old has fun.
It is rhyme of a life to live with own,
Love has cry sadness is mourn.

Enveloped in a shroud of sapphire
Lay a listless child by a fire
Who sought an adventure and lost his way
Who had mourned the passing of the day
Gone had fled the light
His home now far from sight
For hours did he moan
For he was now all alone
But then glowed the embers of the sky
The child looked up and tears did dry
His fears and sorrows gave way to wonder
No longer cursed he at his careless blunder
The stars did then smile in glee
As then the boy did see
No further did he have to roam
For they paved the pathway to his home

With its lingering mixture of snow and sleet
And soggy shoes under feet
With cold winds that seem to blow forever
Its slow decline from winter weather
With the hopes of the raising sun
And less days of persistent glum
Forging forward and waiting to bask
The tulips are here at last
And aspirations deepen for workable loose soil
So that fingers may rake mix and toil
The once empty park benches shall soon fill with sprit
While happily watching young child play in it
An occasionally kite shall soon take flight
With an eager child holding with all there might
All creature’s that laid low and slept
Come alive and adept
To new hopes and dreams
Laughter and sunshine and baseball teams
Golden blooms of the forsythia bush
Springtime rains give it a push
Who can forget Saint Patrick’s Day?
Are you wearing your green beret?
Music and tradition
And a jolly good way
All our new goals and ambitions
Are waiting for the right conditions
It will happen before you can say -
You will wake up and see the display
Of a happy spring bouquet

Laughter about us
While the children play
The sunshine has faded
The sky turned grey
An innocent child
Out in the rain
Sounds of a distant
Yet inbound train
These are the things
Of a neighborhood park
With playground and benches
Tables and basketball court
A dog walks his owner
Gentle rain subsides
Still behind the clouds
The sunshine hides
No one is leaving
Due to this spring shower
Drops of water
Collect on the flowers
As day turns to night
The rain comes to a stop
A child tells his father
“Daddy, you rock”
Headed home from the park
After a long day
Loving the memories
That our family made

When I were a child,
My brothers and sisters
Get education in separate schools.
Girls were in Girls schools,
Boys were in Boys school.
Also their teacher male
And female was separate.
After 16 years old, they join,
College on their choices.
They were fully grown up,
And able to understand relations.
Their desires excited them to write,
A letter, and their vocabulary and
Nature provided knowledge of love.
Love was their base of living,
When they get married,
A choice was in their mind,
A choice of enjoyment,
A choice of Living,
Childhood was a learning institute,
Respect was a meaning in family.
Time was very quiet and desires
Of love was hidden growing.
There was a choice to see each other,
When co-education taken place,
Attraction of beauty has lost,
A meaning of growth and lost
A chapter to understand relations.
Physically harassment and mentally,
Exploitation grew up in modern society.
A child is a mother of a child,
A child fails to protect a family life,
Tension and burden compels them,
To use extra smoking and drinking,
So they can live in peace with pills.

CHILD WARRIOR
, BORN IN A FIGHT
MAKING FRIENDS WITH THE NIGHT.
TWO PEOPLE WHO WON’T SEE WHAT THEIR DOING ISN’T RIGHT.
TURNING HER IN TO A FIGHTER
USING EVERTHING LEFT INSIDE OF HER.
A HOME A BATTLE GROUND
AND BY HIS BRUSES SHE HIDES SHE IS BOUND.
HER CLOSET A SANTUARY,
A SAFE HAVEN SHE GOES TO GET AWAY.
WHERE SHE WRITES POEMS TO EAS HER PAIN.
IN A MESS OF BLANKETS WHER HER BROKEN BODY LAIN.
CHILD WARRIOR
FIGHT FOR IT’S THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN LIVE
PEOPLE CAN ONLY TAKE WHAT YOU HAVE TO GIVE.
SO MUCH YOU MUST SACRIFICE.
BEING BORN WAS TO HIGH A PRICE.
MIDDLE CHILD AND OLDEST CHILD WRAPED UP IN ONE
YOUR RESPONSIBLITIES HAVE ALREADY BEGUN.
WHEN YOU’RE SMALLER THAN YOUR FATHER YOU KNOW WHOM WON.
YOU CAN’T FIND TIME TO FEEL WHAT GONE,
WHEN YOU’RE LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDER AFRAIND OF SOMEONE.
YOUR BODY MAY BRAKE BUT A SPIRIT CAN TAKE
WHAT YOU HAVE INDURED IN THIS HEART ACHE.
CHILD WARRIOR
YOU AR INVINCABLE.
AND INSIDE UN-BREAKABLE.
ONE DAY YOU WILL TELL A STORY OF A CHILD IN PARALE.
WHEN IT COMES TO STRENGTH YOU WON’T FAIL.
YOU HAVE LIVED ON TRENTH SINCE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN,
LIVING INSIDE A WOLD SCORN AND TORN.
YOU ONLY HAVE THE TOOLS OF WHO YOU ARE.
THEY CAN’T TAKE WHO YOU ARE.
YOU ENDURED ALL SITUATIONS AND CONFRINTATIONS.
YOU KNOW MANIPULATIONS.
DON’T BELIEVE THE LIES.
SEVER YOU EMOTIONAL TIES.
CHILD WARRIOR
PREPARE TO FIGHT
POOR SOLE YOU ARE BEING BORN TONIGHT

If a child can’t make a mess, when can they?
Don’t keep their curiosity at bay
A child grows too fast
Their innocent days should not be put last
Let them play and keep an eye
When you blink then time will fly